


Schema

by trufflemores



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Monster - Freeform, Romance, Run-in with a meta, Whump, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8450101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores/pseuds/trufflemores
Summary: 3.05. What if the monster was real?





	

A deep, terrestrial roar shakes the streets.

 _Barry, get out of there_ , Cisco barks.

It's the only logical course of action; they don't have a contingency plan for Godzilla. Their tricks and tools only work on meta- _humans_. Grodd was a challenge, but this forty-foot tall creature is beyond the scope of their work. Those thick, bony forelimbs crush cars. Barry needs to fall back; they need to regroup. Barry knows this.

Then the tyrannosoid crashes into a building, bringing two stories down, and necessity drives Barry to the heart of the scene.

Rubble is coming down fast, but Barry is faster, navigating a sea of cement ballasts to snatch freefalling people. He gets eighteen to ground zero before the explosive blast throws him off his feet, his back hitting a wall hard, throwing the breath out of his lungs. He catches it in time to Flash forward, snatching up two more in imminent harm, beams threatening to come down hard on breakable bones. Setting the unscathed victims on cement feels like triumph, but the monster isn't finished and Barry's knees shake with the force of its next bellow.

Racing forward, he tries to find a weak point, but it's _big_ , long-limbed and built like a tank. Before a plan can form, claws swipe with lethal proximity to his chest, driving him into a retreat. The brilliant red of his suit is his undoing: the monster turns and pursues him with sudden focus, galloping across the intervening space at an easy, I-can-do-this-all-day pace. Except instead of maintaining its speed, it's _accelerating_ , and Cisco keeps barking in his ear, HR chiming in audibly in the background, but Barry can't focus on either of them. _Get it out of range_ , Barry thinks, aware of the fleeing civilians on either side of them.

Then a freight train plows into him. He has half a second to fold his arms, preventing compound break-fall fractures as the cement jumps up to meet him. His nose and cheekbone shatter, a concussive smash scattering stars across his sightline. He feels a clawed foot curling against his back and panic fills flagging lungs with enough air to _bolt_.

His vision too foggy to make out the street, he stumbles, evading the monster's roars more than its movements. _Get it off its feet,_ he thinks, white dots flashing across his vision. _Tip it over_.

He hears shrieks as the monster's foot comes down on a car and _flash_ , he's there, his clumsy, scraped palms leaving bloodied marks on the would-be victims shirts as he snatches them to safety. "Y'okay?" he asks urgently, the scream of grating metal loud enough to throw any answer into obscurity. He turns back to face Godzilla and it swipes at him again, curved claws knocking him across the street with painful ease.

 _This isn't going well_ , he thinks muzzily, something hot trickling down his cheek. Panicked screams becoming fainter as darkness replaces light. Struggling to his feet, he finds his remaining resolve. He can't stop. No one else can stop this thing alone.

 _The Flash can't quit_.

And Barry might be flagging, but the Speed Force isn't, the Speed Force is strong enough to fight it, and Barry closes his eyes and opens them to a different world, a clear matrix of existence where only the Speed Force's – the _Flash_ 's – senses matter.

He feels the pulse of the world slow down, his entire focus zeroing in on the monster, blocking out the white noise of buildings and streets and civilians. His lungs cease to expand as his heartbeat slows, bringing everything into sharper focus. He runs, lightning on his heels, and meets the monster head-on.

He has no rope, but he doesn't need it, running around the monster in circles. His speed creates hurricane force winds, the inverted nature of the vortex protecting the people around him. The monster shrieks in a thunderous, lasting note as the wind buffets it. Shaking its head in violent disapproval, it lifts a leg to take a step and falls.

Barry takes a gamble, sprinting five miles off. It's effortless movement, trusting Flash to know where to put his feet, covering ground with spectacular leaps. Reaching his target, he doubles back, creating an ellipse. When he collides with the creature's head at eight-hundred-and-thirty-seven miles per hour, it lurches back. Then it crashes back down, kayoed.

The rebound hits Barry and breaks every bone in his right arm, the force of the pain driving him to his knees, Flash's certainty fading as his own body yanks back its control. He tries to breathe through it, cops surrounding the creature as he pulls himself to his knees. That's as far as he gets, vertigo snatching away his control. Unable to hear Cisco over the ringing in his ear, he hovers between consciousness and silence, aware of how openly exposed he is and equally pressed to find cover.

Then Iris is there, pulling his left arm over her shoulder and getting him on his feet. His groan is breathless, drowned out by police chatter. Iris keeps a firm arm around his waist, helping him limp to a cruiser, and it's a bad idea to get in a cop car, anyone could take the wheel and his identity could be exposed, but he collapses into the backseat before rationality can panic him into flight.

Julian huffs, "I can't believe I'm doing this," and Barry tries to lurch upright, but Iris puts a hand on his abdomen to keep him down. Sirens on, they take flight, crossing the perimeter of the creature's warpath and entering a different city, one sobered but undamaged in the attack. Barry's right arm throbs continuously, splinters threatening to erupt through his skin with every pothole, and he holds onto consciousness through Iris' hand in his left.

He squeezes it hard enough that she says, "Easy, Flash." Her opposite hand rests on his abdomen, a continuous presence, grounding him. Attempting to not throw up in the cruiser is a challenge, as is releasing his punishing grip on Iris' palm, but he manages both. He even holds onto consciousness long enough to hear the car rumble to a halt, foggily processing Cisco's presence before sitting up proves a damning change in elevation.

He's out before Julian finishes a final mutter of _unbelievable_.

. o .

When he wakes up, his arm is encased in cement. Or, at least, it feels that way, splinted so enthusiastically that he can't lift it off the table he's lying on. His face throbs in time with his heartbeat, a TV reporter's voice drifting across the space, documenting the scene with professional detachment. Julian's voice reaches him next, analyzing the Labs, Cisco's soft responses conveying a genuine trust.

 _Julian is one of the best people we know_ , Cisco told him.

Before he can ponder that too deeply, a familiar quipped voice asks, "How're we feeling, Flash?"

 _Still masked_ , he thinks, suddenly hating Julian's presence because _God_ he is tired and just wants to take the cowl and responsibility off. Instead, voice deepened with pain, he replies, "What're you doing here?"

"He drove you," Cisco fills in helpfully. Barry watches through slow-blinking eyes as Cisco comes closer, resting a hand on Barry's leg. "You didn't answer his question." He looks ready to pick up a penlight, eager to ascertain Barry's good health.

 _You won't find it_ , Barry thinks, stiff and sore and somehow stupidly satisfied. _I got the monster_. It makes him smile, a painful gesture that falls as soon as it happens. "Where's Iris?" he rasps.

"She went to pick up Joe," Cisco explains with unexpected softness, matching his tone. The synchronicity surprises Barry, the forgiveness still new, still _different_. Cisco's immediate trust and warmth is gone, bled out over the long months of darkness in the wake of Dante's death, but there is still something residual there, something underneath the hardened shield, a magmatic warmth. "How's your head?" Cisco prompts, no obvious answers forthcoming.

Barry tries and fails to sit up more. "Heavy."

"I'd imagine. Concussion like yours, you're lucky to be conscious," Julian pipes in remorselessly.

"Jule," Cisco warns.

"Sorry," Julian responds. "Not used to having a meta-human around."

"I'm human, too," Barry reminds him, pushing himself up with painful effort. Cisco belatedly puts a hand around his back, the unfamiliarity of the gesture making Barry's heart ache. Still, Cisco's grip is firm, supportive, and doesn't move even as Barry's strength to uphold the position falters. "You know that, right? I'm – I'm still – we're still human, even though we're _meta_ , too."

Julian eyes him up and down, saying, "That's really something, coming from you, Flash. Last I heard, you can walk on water. Not many _humans_ who can do that. Or throw lightning."

Barry closes his eyes for a moment, exhausted. It's a mistake, making his head spin. When he opens his eyes he can barely swallow back the nausea.

The urge to ask for a painkiller is reflexive, born from twenty-five years of being able to _do_ so, but its reappearance brings tears to Barry's eyes. It doesn't matter how much he wants it; he doesn't get shortcuts. _I'm a meta-human_. Humanity dealt with pain unaltered for millennia. Surely he, too, can survive a little discomfort.

"I'm human," he repeats with sudden insistence, his weight bearing down on Cisco's supporting arm. "I'm—"

"You should rest," Cisco interrupts, lowering him back to the gurney, his tone making it clear that it's less a suggestion than a command. "Take it easy."

Barry shakes his head a little, making his headache _throb_ , and closes his eyes even as he reaches for Cisco's shirt, curling his hand in it. He can't find the right words. There are too many _I'm sorrys_ that need to be said, a desperate _Please let me fix this_ straining to be heard. All he manages is a slurred, "Hey, you need – you need to know, you need to – you're my friend. I would never – never jeopardize that, if there was any way—"

"We shouldn't have this conversation like this," Cisco cuts him off, gentle but firm, freeing Barry's grip. "You're concussed." He puts Barry's hand on the bed, a clear rejection, but Barry can't let it go that easily, holding onto his hand.

"Please," he insists.

Cisco exhales deeply through his nose. "Give us a moment," he tells Julian.

"I'll do you one better," Julian says, grabbing his coat. "Heal fast, Flash."

Once his footsteps fade entirely, Barry reaches up with painstaking effort and peels back his cowl. It tries to stick to his face, a groan slipping past his lips. "Ow," he mutters eloquently, reaching up to feel his jawline gingerly.

"What happened out there?" Cisco asks, getting up. Barry stiffens, reaching for him and sinking a hand in his shirt, and Cisco rolls his eyes with almost familiar fondness before unprying his hand. "Relax," he says. Ambling over to the sink, he wets a washcloth and returns with it, bringing it up to Barry's cheek and brushing it over his skin. "You look like hell, you know."

"Pretty sure I feel worse," Barry says, closing his eyes as Cisco sweeps the cloth beside his left eye. The simple gesture is so _kind_ that it forms a lump in his throat, his hand reaching up to snag Cisco's wrist. "Cisco," he insists. "I'm sorry."

"You've apologized already," Cisco reminds him.

"It'll never be enough," Barry mumbles.

Cisco sighs, putting the washcloth aside and taking Barry's hand in his own. "I understand your reasons," he says, "I'm still working on accepting them." Releasing Barry's hand, he backs off, giving him space.

Barry nods, wincing as the gesture sends his world off-axis. "Did they – they caught the monster?"

"Locked and loaded up. They're thinking about taking it to an island, maybe rehabilitate it," Cisco confirms.

Barry lets out a deep, relieved breath.

"Personally, I'm glad we don't have any giant monsters on Earth-19," HR says, walking into the cortex. Barry looks over and sees a tray of coffees, an amused huff escaping him. "I brought you coffee," HR explains, "because it's healing."

"Did you grind up the beans this time?" Cisco asks.

HR freezes mid-offer. "You know," he says bracingly, reclaiming the tray, "it's the thought that counts."

Barry huffs softly. "Earth-19 must be an interesting place."

"Absolutely fascinating," HR agrees, sitting on the edge of Barry's bed. "Everything here is so different. What the hell is a 'Hufflepuff,' anyway? Everyone knows the four houses are –"

"Okay, first off, I am a Hufflepuff, so fuck you," Cisco interjects, popping a lollipop into his mouth, "second—"

They bicker long enough that Barry drops off, returning to, "There's a sequel?"

" _Three_."

"I must see these sequels immediately," HR announces.

"How did they not make any on your Earth? _Jurassic Park_ is like, iconic."

"We called it _Permian Park_. The concept was somewhat less thrilling with trilobites."

"Okay, what about—"

Barry doesn't bother opening his eyes for a time, content to feel the lightning numb the worst discomfort. His arm, while heavy, is noticeably less sharp, all soft edges and relieving pressure. There's someone by his side, elbow on the gurney, almost imperceptibly there amid HR and Cisco's spirited arguments. When he opens his eyes, he sees Iris, lazily skimming through her phone.

"Hi," he rumbles. "When'd you get here?"

"Couple hours ago," Iris says, turning and running a hand idly down his side. "How're you?"

"Stiff," Barry admits. Sitting up is still difficult, but doable. "Wanna go home."

Iris nods. "Sure you're up to it?"

In response, Barry inhales deeply, trusting the Speed Force where he cannot trust himself, and in a flash he's setting Iris down in Joe's living room, shaking legs transporting him as far as the couch before caving. Joe walks into the living room, mittens on his hands, and says with an amused tone, "Couldn't resist my lasagna, could you?"

"Absolutely not," Barry mumbles into the couch cushions.

"At least you're using mittens," Iris chimes in, abandoning Barry with a ruffle to his hair.

Julian will ask about the bruises that don't quite fade by the next morning ("tripped into a wall" earns a snipped "explains everything"), and the monster's creator will come to light in a week's time, but for one night, being back at Joe's with Iris' warm laughter one room over, is _end of the day_ for Barry. It's _off the clock_.

He might be a meta, _The Flash_ , but he's human, too.

And the greatest reward is surely Iris curling up to him on the couch for a cuddle after dinner, her presence a reminder that no matter how many people he saves, the best one will always be right at his side.


End file.
